


Fuzzy

by viceroyvonmutini



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: 'death', F/F, dealing with shaws, many pain, much angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-07
Updated: 2015-01-07
Packaged: 2018-03-06 14:22:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3137552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/viceroyvonmutini/pseuds/viceroyvonmutini
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everything moves like clockwork.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fuzzy

**Author's Note:**

> I made a tumblr text post and thought 'wow that was so good I'm going to fic this.' So here's the hastily written fic. It's just angst guys. How anyone can write fluff in this weather I have no idea.

 

Everything was black and white, right or wrong, justice or injustice. Root fought for justice: Shaw died for justice.

 

Keeping things simple seemed easiest: two options that gave no room for debate. It was odd at first for the others seeing her shut down like that, like a machine, but it felt almost natural: the only option available to her. To give herself more, to allow herself choice would mean to deviate back to her previous life, where morals were few and far between: grey fuzzy lines that could be moved and spun to fit her twisted rationale. So she gave herself two options: fight for justice, or injustice. Samaritan, or the Machine.

 

She was never ‘okay.’ She continued to act, to perform tasks but it was like clockwork like a dog called to heel: she would be ordered and she would obey as quickly as possible, carrying out tasks in their simplest manner. It was business.

 

When Samaritan went down things went back to normal- well, things were never normal for Root any more, things were merely ‘fine’. She stayed with the Machine because what else did she have anymore?

 

It was back to relevant, to irrelevant. She handles the relevant as they come to her without question because to question would be to lose purpose, though every so often She sends her an irrelevant to help with. She tends to pass up on those because working with Harold and John is too much everything reminds her of her. Even Bear. They’re stifling, two mother hens fretting and worrying that she’s got no back up and she doesn’t like that because that isn’t their job that was Sameen’s job. Sameen was her back up. Sameen took care of her, nursed her bandaged gun shot wounds, made sure she actually got some rest and showered because ‘No Root you are not a machine She cant have you all the time sit the fuck back down you just got shot and tell her to fuck off.’

 

But Harold is right to fret because she has nothing anymore so she keeps going, patching herself up when she can and sleeping when necessary: eating the bare minimum to stay alive.

 

She keeps watch. Of course She does but doesn’t dare say a thing unless things get critical because She knows now she’s not welcome Root said as much in not so many words and She’s not permitted to comment because this is Her fault and what right does She have to tell her to rest, to take Sameen’s job?

 

The Machine watches silently from above and Root knows she’s watching knows she’ll protect her, but what use is a machine when she’s facing two guys and no ammo? Where is she then? And it’s in those tight spots that Root misses Shaw’s smug smirk, pissed of anger as she shots one in the shoulder and the other in the kneecap saving the day yet again in her unpredictable manner because of course the Machine never took into account that Shaw might swim an ocean to save her: to have her back.

 

So the Machine stays silent. They don’t converse like they used to. There’s no light-hearted questions or polite requests for information or caring smiles at the odd security camera but she keeps her head down and asks for nothing. So she receives the bare minimum: ascending and descending tones, everything she needs to fight effectively. There are no puzzles to piece together anymore it’s only hard cold facts because Root doesn’t do that anymore because if she hadn’t been so childish then maybe Shaw would still be alive.

 

Every so often she thinks that maybe Shaw isn’t dead. Maybe she’s off held by Decima (they disbanded when Samaritan fell, hunted mercilessly by an unknown figure whose data is mysteriously missing form all police data banks.) or even imprisoned in Guantanamo by Control and the Government (she infiltrated and hacked into their system. She’s not) because sometimes she needs a little hope to keep her going: it’s like she can write it off as a bad dream and keep going if she holds hope and she’d much rather that than face reality.

 

And sometimes the Machine sends her to places like Alaska, or New Orleans (she tried that steak. It really was good) though she does try to avoid those places because they always make Root particularly reckless and ruthless because for Root she remembers those times when she had her other half: the one who would always be there catch her when she falls. And it felt so empty without her there, Shaw’s silent snark that infiltrated the room, her being, and made everything warm around her keeping out the cold. There was nothing now.

 

On those cold nights, when she feels nothing and she touches reality with the ghost of her fingers she brings up Shaw’s file to remind her of the time when she was hunting her like prey and torturing her with irons and zip ties and flirting seemed the most important thing and she bring ups old footage stored on security camera’s around the globe and She says nothing as Root watches like a biopic Shaw at work in her most elegant state. And she tortures herself with longing at what could have been between them if things had turned out differently and yet she wouldn’t change their time together for the world and those nights she’ll whimper alone in the dark and the cold because it was her fault it was all her fault and it was her fault too for being so stupid and reckless and brave.


End file.
